


Acrid (In Pursuit of Wade)

by misshunbun



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: Comedy, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, comic-verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 04:56:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16422800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misshunbun/pseuds/misshunbun
Summary: Spidey put his foot in his mouth again. What's new? And now he's got to chase down Deadpool to try and make things right.





	Acrid (In Pursuit of Wade)

**Author's Note:**

> My first Spideypool fic. First thing I've written in about 5 years? Started this fic about a year ago, got about 3 pages in and never finished it. Now I have. I apologize for awkward as hell smut, I've never written anything explicit before, and probably never will again. Ugh, so awkward.
> 
> This is a comic-verse fic, set after Spider-Man/Deadpool #18ish? But the timeline isn't that important, just a minor reference to a scene in one of the issues.

He pushed the door in despite the insistent static at the base of his skull telling him it was a bad idea. A wave of heavy smoke and humid heat broke across him as he stepped into the dim light of the room, leaving the chill and rain behind him.

 

The static became sharper, prickling at his skin like a rash and he slapped a hand across the back of his neck. It didn't help. It was just an automatic reaction, like slapping at a mosquito.

 

The clack of cues striking balls on the tables nearby and the dull murmur of conversation slowed almost to a complete stop as he walked into the room. He ignored the stares that fell over him. Some were sharp- full of dangerous intent. Others- the dull heavy-lidded glances from people too deep into their glasses to see him as more than another hallucination conjured up in a drunken stupor.

 

He clenched his jaw as he sucked his breath in through gritted teeth. The acrid smell of sweat, booze and blood was enough to overwhelm his senses as he fought against the bile growing in his throat.

 

Leave it to Deadpool to hang out in what must be the most vile bar in New York. Not that Peter was an expert. He didn't make it a habit to frequent bars, but he could only assume that this was bottom of the barrel. And he would know-- he'd hidden out at the bottom of some very questionable barrels in some very questionable places. The glamorous hero life, right?

 

He tried to avoid glancing around too much as he looked for broad, leather-clad shoulders. Make eye contact with the wrong person and he'd end up starting a riot. He got the feeling super types weren't exactly welcome customers here, and he wasn't here to fight with a bunch of random thugs and bikers filling out the room like a bad-guy stereotype convention.

 

A sharp tingle shot down his spine as he spotted his quarry perched on a stool at the bar. A shot glass filled with liquid so dark it looked black was gripped in Deadpool's gloved hand, and judging by the little collection of empty glasses at his elbow he'd either been here a long time, or he was drinking dangerously fast. Neither were ideal if the current of electricity racing from his skull to his tailbone was anything to go by.

 

He ignored it and slid onto the stool next to Wade. A popular seat if the permanent butt-groove and smooth, polished wood were anything to go by. And as if on cue, the room began filling up with the buzz of conversation again. Proximity to Deadpool apparently implied immunity by association, and Peter was, for the moment, forgotten.

 

"Wade," he greeted him, pointedly not flinching when the shot glass was slammed heavily against the bar, tiny drops of liquor splashing out to stain the wood.

 

Deadpool ignored him and gestured instead at the heavily tattooed and bearded bartender with two fingers. He looked like the kind of man who would go by a name like Grizzly or Brick. He placed a new shot glass in front of Wade, his thick fingers leaving grimy prints on the surface as he filled it with what Peter could now see as a deep amber. Whisky? Why didn't he just refill the same glass?

 

"I'm trying to keep count," was the answer to the question Peter didn't realize he'd spoken out loud. Deadpool's voice was pitched low, like sand being ground out between rocks. "I always wondered how many shots came in a two-six." He said, swiping the whiskey off his scarred lips with a gloved hand.

 

"I thought you were ignoring me." Peter tried to make his voice light, shrugging as he said it. Jokes were usually the way to get Wade to lower his guard, but still, he couldn't help the petulance that slipped its way out unbidden, and he cringed slightly at the edge in his own voice.

 

"Ah, come on, you know I could never ignore you, Spides," Deadpool said as he toyed with empty glass number seven, rocking it back and forth on the bartop. Despite his airy words, he still avoided looking to his right, at Peter; choosing instead to stare straight ahead to the shelves lining the wall with bottles of all sizes and colours, his mouth drawn in a thin line.

 

Peter had miraculously managed to side-step any conflict so far-- just walking in this place was asking for trouble-- but it seemed like his luck ended with Wade. The tight set to Deadpool's shoulders, the grip on the glass that threatened to shatter it at any moment- the tension was palpable in the absence of an onslaught of jokes and childish banter, and a quiet Deadpool was a dangerous Deadpool. Wade was angry- had every right to be, but Peter had faced worse fights. They may scuffle, and he may even get roughed up a bit in the process, but Peter believed Wade would never seriously hurt him. Even if his senses were screaming 'Danger, Danger, Danger' at him until his entire head was pounding.

 

"Look, can we talk, Wade?" he asked, hands resting gingerly on the bar, trying to avoid the little pools of liquid (he really, really hoped it was just condensation) from soaking into his gloves which were already slightly damp and sticky from the rain. He leaned forward trying to put himself in Wade's line of sight but he was still steadfastly ignored.

 

"Honestly, babe, I've heard just about enough outta you for one day." Wade said on the tail-end of a long-suffering sigh. "I know, I never thought I'd hear me say that either, but here we are," he shrugged. Shaking his head, he finally turned himself, cheek resting on his fist, his elbow propped on the bar. "So scamper off now, before you breathe in too much toxic air from all these low-life, germ-carrying assholes," Deadpool said lightly, gesturing vaguely to the crowd of people behind them, and then with more sarcastic aplomb than Peter realized was possible, to himself.

 

Peter bit back a sound of frustration threatening to bubble up to the surface. "'Pool, that's not- can't I just-?"

 

"No. You can't." Deadpool's tone changed abruptly, turned into steel sharper than the edge of his katana. Peter knew he was stepping into a fight when he finally made up his mind to track the mercenary down. But this felt weightier than their typical Quick-Blow-Up-And-Back-To-Besties. And if he were being completely honest with himself, Peter felt there was little he could actually do to really permanently damage their relationship. He'd decapitated Deadpool with his own swords once, and they'd worked that out just fine with a simple off-handed comment and a sarcastic apology.

 

Looking at Deadpool now- the excessive drinking, the defensive slouch, the tension in his shoulders and back-  perhaps Peter had been thinking too highly of himself.

 

He twisted in his seat, perched on the edge until his knees bumped against Wade's thigh. "Look, I'm sorry I said-"

 

A gloved hand shot up in front of Peter's face so quickly he was startled into silence. "I already heard it once, Webs. I'm not in the mood for an encore performance."

 

Peter huffed out his frustration. He was getting nowhere, and this was a conversation he didn't exactly want to be having in a bar full of delinquents and criminals. "Would you please just talk to me," he held his hands out in a pleading gesture. He hoped Wade wasn't too buzzed to hear the sincerity in his voice. "I feel horrible and I want to make it right."

 

Deadpool clicked his tongue. And then he actually laughed. It was a bitter laugh, barely an exhalation, but it rose Peter's hackles. "Yeah, make it right for you, you mean." The corner of his mouth jerked up in a sickening parody of Wade's normal, cocky grin.

 

Those words felt like a slap across the face, and Peter's stomach dropped like lead. "What are you- what the heck!?" he managed to splutter out indignantly.

 

"Keep the sanctimonious shit to yourself, Honey," Deadpool pulled his lips into a tight snarl, his voice dragging out low like the rumble of distant thunder. "You get up in here, make nicey-nice with ol' Pool so you can crawl back into bed all cozy and sweet and not worry your fluffy little head about the shit that _you_ started," he emphasized with a sharp jab to Peter's chest.

 

Peter's eyes widened behind his mask. Is that what Wade really thought? Sure, he didn't exactly want to spend a sleepless night with the memory of what he said weighing heavily on his mind. Peter had well and truly messed up this time, but it wasn't about him and his feelings. It was about the look of hurt and confusion on Deadpool's face in that alleyway just hours before. He could see it there even with the mask covering his features. It was about the slump of his shoulders and the defeated sigh. It was about the helpless little laugh and the way he had turned around wordlessly and walked away.

 

It was about Wade.

 

"Wade, please," Peter said, gently laying his hand over the finger that was most definitely leaving a bruise in the centre of his chest "Come outside with me, I don't want to do this in here."

 

Wade jerked his hand away from under Peter's roughly and said nothing. He turned back to the bartender who was currently eyeing them with something akin to distaste, and tapped his glass impatiently against the bar. "I told you to keep this liquor train running, Grizzly Adams."

 

The barb startled a laugh out of Peter. "I named him Grizzly too. Does that mean we get to keep him?" he joked. They weren't in a light-hearted place at the moment, but Peter would take an opportunity to connect on any level he could. The little snort of amusement he got in return as Deadpool downed shot number eight was worth it.

 

"C'mon, 'Pool. Please. My head is killing me and I can barely breathe in this place. Just- Come outside with me?"  He nudged Deadpool gently in the side with his elbow. "You could probably use the fresh air anyway; this place smells like Wolvie after a month-long beer-binge in the woods." He gave an exaggerated shudder, trying awkwardly to lighten the mood. Jokes at Logan's expense usually worked.

 

Deadpool sighed and dropped his head on the bar with a heavy thud, his face turned to look up at Peter as he secured his mask back over the bottom of his chin. And Peter definitely didn't want to think about what was soaking into that mask right now. "You're a stubborn little shit. I ever tell you that before?"

 

"Only all the time, Wade." He'd been hoping for a return to their typical back-and-forth, but drunken resignation was still preferable to a punch in the face. Yeah, it wasn't necessarily smooth-sailing from here, but at least Wade was starting to let up. Peter clapped Deadpool on the back, and slid off the stool. "C'mon, let's go."

 

Peter watched Deadpool give an exaggerated grunt as he pushed himself up bodily. He dug into one of his pouches and pulled out a bundle of cash. There were enough smug Benjamins looking up at Peter to run this whole bar dry, let alone for half that "two-six" bottle Wade had downed. He couldn't help but shake his head at the excess.

 

"Money comes easy in my line of work, Sweetums," Wade said, and the pointed smirk in his voice was unmistakeable. Peter understood the implication but he also knew Wade had stopped taking assassination jobs months ago. In exchange, Deadpool was allowed to tag along with Spider-Man. It was a Spidey-Swear; Wade had crossed his heart eight times, 'same as the number of legs you got, Babe.' Not even a little bit correct, but biological inaccuracies aside, Peter trusted Wade to keep his promise.

 

The merc was just trying to get under his skin, but Peter wouldn't take the bait. He was going to fix this, and they were going to do it properly- _not_ like children. Although "children" wasn't far off from how people often described the pair of them (with varying degrees of affection). Right now Peter needed to be the adult, especially as he'd been the one to behave so immaturely earlier.

 

Peter deliberately turned his head away from the pile of money without comment and lead the way to the front door. It quickly became apparent that their conversation had caught the attention of some of the 'esteemed patrons', if the sarcastic wolf whistles and obnoxious cat-calls in his direction were any indication.

 

Peter rolled his eyes; it wasn't like it was the first time someone had yelled "Nice tights, Princess" in his direction. And normally he'd have a clever (yes, clever) clapback, but this headache just wouldn't let up; the constant pressure behind his eyes growing from uncomfortable to painful. The endless cloud of cigarette smoke irritating his senses wasn't helping much either. The best thing to do right now was ignore the jeering and just get out in the fresh air. Repairing his friendship took priority over his pride.

 

The familiar sound of the snap of a button and the slide of metal against leather informed Peter that Wade had a different idea on how to handle the situation as he suddenly unholstered one of his guns. Peter rolled his eyes again, torn between exasperation and fondness. He reached back without even bothering to look to grasp at Wade's forearm and pull him out the door.

 

The sudden blast of air across Peter's masked face as he stepped out onto the street was cool and heavy with the smell of the rain. Peter felt some of the pressure in his head release its hold on him as he breathed in deeply, the cold water soaking into his suit and washing away the grimy, gritty feeling that clung to him like cheap aftershave.

 

Peter blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sudden shock of liquid light against a backdrop of dark brick walls. A generic neon PSYCHIC sign and a flickering and buzzing "VA  AN  Y", (why were just the C's burned out?) lit up the scummy back end street and painted everything in electric pink and blue.

 

"That guy was bein'a disrespectful fuckbucket, Spidey," Wade whined from behind him, the torrential rain not enough to drown out the sound of Wade's voice. Deadpool was known to razz Peter on occasion: all's fair in banter and war, or however the expression went. But apparently he drew the line at drunk scumbags insulting Spider-Man with _zero_ creativity. Actually, maybe the lack of creativity was the most offensive thing to Wade? His burns were usually on point.

 

Peter pulled him into an alley next to the bar, to huddle under the fire escape, which offered a little more than no cover at all. He loosened the gun from Wade's hand and placed it back in the holster resting against his ribs, popping the snap button in place and patting it gently. "I think we've seen enough of ol' Shooty McBullets for now."

 

Wade grabbed Peter's wrist abruptly and held it there, against his gun holster. His grip was tight--would probably be painful to a run-of-the-mill normie. "So what is this really about, Honeybuns? Why can't you just leave a guy to wallow in a disgusting pity hole by himself?"

 

Peter could hear it in his voice, the little cracks along the edges. The hurt was there, and it was real. And Peter had made it happen. He was grateful Wade had moved past the ignoring stage, but the startling openness of his hurt was painful. He resisted the impulse to pull his wrist away from Wade's heated grip. He could feel the warmth of Wade's skin even through his thick leather gloves. He radiated it like a furnace.

 

Peter didn't know if it was Wade's sudden intensity or the rain soaking in through his mask that made him feel a bit like he was suffocating, so he pulled it up to rest on the bridge of his nose. It would be easier to have this talk if he didn't feel like he was drowning and spluttering out every other word, anyway.

 

"Wade," Peter said, as he opened the hand still in Deadpool's grasp, laying his open palm across his chest, in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "What I said to you, the assumption I made-- that was wrong. Unforgiveable, even." He paused and tried to convey through the set of his mouth, the sag of his shoulders, just how he felt. He hoped Wade could feel something in his pulse where he grasped at Peter's wrist.

 

"Wade, I'm so sorry." He couldn't express it with his eyes, but maybe Wade could hear it in his voice.

 

Wade brushed his thumb lightly against Peter's wrist before he released it from his grip. Tossed away was maybe more accurate. Peter told himself he had no right to feel insulted, but it still hurt a little.

  

Deadpool pulled his mask up to rest on the bridge of his nose. "Webs, you know, I don't really give a shit what other people think about me. But you- I care what you think. What you said to me- You just drop into a fucking nightmare situation, blood everywhere, and me with a body in my arms, trying my best to be the fucking Hero." Wade's voice began to rise and took on an edge of fierceness. Peter felt the urge to step back, but he knew Deadpool, knew that he would take it the wrong way. So he stood his ground and took the verbal beating he had coming.

 

"Trying to save some dumb sack o' shit's life, who prob'ly deserved what he got! And you accuse me: 'What did you do, Wade?' Seriously? Without even bothering to take a look around and use your head! You're s'posed to be the genius in this operation. How could you just..."  His words trailed off, his fists clenched and voice filled with frustrated resignation.

 

Peter left his hand where it lay across Deadpool's chest; he could feel his heart racing. The responsibility that came with being Wade's... Wade's what, exactly? His role-model? His Hero? His Bestie? His little not-so-secret crush? He knew how big a responsibility it was. He felt it so deep that it stung when he thought about how his words must have cut Wade right to his core.

 

"I know, 'Pool. I haven't lived up to your expectations. I let you down. I was wrong, and you deserved better." Peter hung his head and sighed. Words got him into this mess, but it would take more than words to solve it. Every angry word was true: Wade deserved better, and Peter had no excuse.

 

The tension in Deadpool's clenched jaw, the frown lines wrinkling the mask between his eyes, the way his bottom lip looked like it had been chewed and split bloody with anxiety. And suddenly Peter knew how he could fix it all. He could make it right, and prove to Wade how much he trusted him, how he would try to be better too. No time to think it through. If he hesitated now he'd never do it, and impulse control was never one of Peter's strengths.

 

He spared a quick glance around the corner, but the street connecting the alley was empty. Apparently the thought of Deadpool's gun was enough of a deterrent to keep the bar flies inside. He grabbed Wade's arm and yanked him further into the darkness, until the only light left was the faint fading and fluttering pink and blue, bathing Wade in electric relief.

 

Peter pulled his mask off.

 

He almost didn't hear the sharp intake of breath over the sound of the rain. "Webs- Wha?" Deadpool whipped his head to the side, screwed his eyes shut and held up his hands like a shield, as if it could help him unsee Peter's face.

 

He wasn't sure exactly what kind of reaction to expect from Deadpool; he imagined a lot of squealing and fawning. Maybe some kissy-faces and jokes about Tobey McGuire. But total denial wasn't high on the list.

 

Peter gently tapped him on the shoulder. "I'm over here, Wade," he said playfully. Peter didn't often get to share his identity with people. Somehow it always came back to bite him in the butt and left him full of regrets. This felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He almost felt giddy. Somehow. As if that made sense.

 

Wade waved his arms in front of him and shook his head wildly. "Nope. No. I wasn't prepared! You can't just whip it out like that, Spidey!"

 

Peter had to chuckle at this new type of distress in Wade's voice. "I messed up Wade- look at me." He said, poking at Wade's cheek with a finger to bring him face-to-face. "I mean it- I messed up. I hope this helps to make it up to you." He grasped Wade's shoulder and squeezed it.

 

Wade took a step back and pressed himself hard against the brick wall, palms resting flat as if he were hoping to try and escape straight through it Platform 9 3/4 style. "Jesus Christ, Spidey. Like, hot damn. Seriously, is this for real? Holy shit. Look at you! And now I'm babbling. I mean- I always do. It's kind of my raison d'etre. But does it sound worse to you than normal? It sounds worse to me. Fuck. Dammit. I can't stop. Help me, Obi Waaaan."

 

Peter laughed. He couldn't help it. Wade was an outrageous flirt, but this was next-level. And it felt good to hear some of the humor return to Deadpool's voice. His identity, for the moment, was a small price to pay for that.

 

Wade covered his face with his hands, shaking his head "Ohh shit no, now he's laughing. God damn you're too fucking cute. You have a dimple? Shit that's not fair. I mean I knew you were cute as hell; I gotta sense about these things. Like with you, and spiders, but not like... literally sensing spiders. I guess you don't know when a spider is nearby? I never asked before. Can you tell-"

 

"Wade, stop. It's serious time now." Peter said, grabbing Deadpool around his biceps and holding them down. He was gonna lose an eye with the way Wade was flailing around, and him without his lenses on, his mask clutched in his hand. And the copious amounts of water flying off the leather of his suit and splashing Peter in the face wasn't helping either.

 

"I messed up. Royally. So to make it up to you, I'm giving you the only thing I can think of to prove that I trust you." He said, looking up into the eyes of Deadpool's mask. "My name is Peter."

 

"Peter," Deadpool repeated as if testing the way it sounded in his ground-glass voice. "Petey?"

 

Peter rolled his eyes, and chuckled when he realized it was the first time Deadpool could actually see him doing it, after all these years.

 

"Hazel." Wade said, his head tilted on an angle, like a curious puppy trying to make sense of something.

 

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Not Hazel. Peter. You just said it, Wade."

 

He flinched as Wade smacked him across the back of the head. "Not your name, dummy. Your eyes."

 

"Oh." He felt much more naked than normal suddenly, despite the fact that he wore a suit on the reg that left very little to the imagination. "Yeah, I guess they are." Peter rubbed the back of his neck and broke eye contact, suddenly feeling a little shy.

 

They stood silently a moment. Peter staring at the ground and feeling a little awkward under Deadpool's gaze, heavy and almost stiflingly warm.

 

"So, anyway, do you forgive me?" Peter pushed dripping chestnut waves out of his eyes, and gave his head a little shake to clear away the water running down his nose and off his chin in rivulets. And if he took advantage of not wearing his mask to give Deadpool a little taste of Peter Parker's Patented Puppy-Dog Eyes, well, he wasn't trying to be manipulative or anything. Really. He was just trying to settle this non-violently. Guns and smacks in the head notwithstanding.

 

"You look really pretty in the rain, you know?" Wade said, as if this was an answer to his question. Peter supposed that maybe it was, for Deadpool.

 

"Can't you go five minutes without spouting some kind of ridiculous line when I'm trying to be serious here?" The Spidey-Snark burst out of him automatically and he crossed his arms in front of his chest in a defensive posture. He was used to Wade hitting on him by now, but this felt different. Sincere. And it put him off balance. He felt heat rush to his face, and he was decidedly warm all over, despite the chill and damp of the rain clinging to him.

 

"I am being serious." Wade's voice, normally ranging from gravelly and terror-inducing to sickly-sweet and sarcastic, was doing something Peter had never heard before. Was having an effect on Peter it had never had before. His pulse quickened suddenly and the warmth he felt in his face spread and pooled in his stomach.

 

"Peter." The way he said it was different than the first time. It was soft, and it felt like the caress of honey and silk. And when Wade reached forward tentatively, as if the movement might spook Peter, to grasp his chin lightly in a smooth leather grip, he found himself frozen to the spot. Unable to react.

 

"Peter, wouldja look at you. You're gorgeous." He brushed the pad of his thumb along Peter's bottom lip, catching it and pulling it down lightly.

 

Peter's lips parted and he blinked up at Deadpool in bewilderment. He felt a tremor in his body that started in his belly and spread through his limbs, until even his fingertips began to tingle. He was suddenly more aware of how close Deadpool was standing. Wasn't Wade trying to become one with the brick wall just two minutes ago? When did he move so close their chests touched every time he took a shaky breath?

 

"Can I be greedy, and pretend I won't forgive you until you give me one more thing first, Spidey?" Wade brushed his knuckles gently across Peter's jaw, to rest whisper-soft against his cheekbone. Peter could feel the weight behind the request. Every muscle in his body tensed, and that familiar electric warning that had begun to recede ran up and down his spine again, sharper than ever. It felt dangerous. And heady. The mood had shifted on a dime, and every nerve in his body was prickling with pinpoints of fire.

 

Without thinking about it, he leaned in to that touch just barely, and closed his eyes. He felt the air shift in front of him, grow warm with the slight scent of whisky, and then the gentle pressure of Deadpool's bitten and chapped lips pressing against his.

 

Peter tried to smother the sound that was intent on pushing its way out of his chest but he failed. He wasn't quite sure if he could tell up from down right now, and as someone who spent a good deal of time upside down, he fancied himself something of an expert.

 

Deadpool must have taken the sound as encouragement. He wrapped a gloved hand around the back of Peter's neck, pulling him in sharply until they stood pressed against each other from chest to hip, and slid his other hand into Peter's hair. The sound Wade made in his throat as he curled his hand into Peter's hair was desperate and choked.

 

Deadpool had wanted this for a long-time, Peter was almost positive. There must always have been a little seed of truth behind every joke and come-on over the years. But the magnitude of his feelings had escaped Peter until just now. There was more behind this kiss, and it made Peter feel feverish. He shivered.

 

He wrapped his hand around Deadpool's thick bicep and squeezed, pushing up on his tiptoes to give himself more leverage. He parted his lips slightly to take a shuddering breath against the cool rain running down his face and into his mouth.

 

The bitter taste of New York rain was quickly replaced with the warmth and sweetness of the whisky on Wade's tongue. Peter surged up into the kiss, dropping his mask onto the wet ground as he gripped the back of Deadpool's head, fingers twisting slightly in the bunched up fabric.

 

"Spidey-" It was little more than a sigh against his lips, but the fervor with which Wade said it set his blood on fire. The hand running through his hair to glide sweetly down his back, to finally rest in the small of his back was driving Peter into some state of frenzy. Every pass of Deadpool's glove warmed Peter to his core and he wanted more.

 

"Wade, please-" What he was pleading for he didn't know exactly. And on a different day, the sound of the acute desperation in his voice would probably embarrass him. But the growl Peter got in response was almost manic with desire, and something snapped, like a wire shorting out in his stomach. Had anyone in his whole life ever wanted Peter so badly? Ever hungered for him like this? Wade had been chasing him for years, and that built up desire was finally coming to a head. Peter would be lying to himself if he denied feeling that palpable tension between them. But he probably would never have acted on it himself. Until now. Until Deadpool looked at the real him: plain, boring, nerdy Parker, and still thought he was something special.

 

The same way Peter looked at Wade, beneath the jokes and the violence and the self-loathing, and saw something special.

 

He slid Wade's hand insistently from his back to rest along the curve of his ass, wrapped his arms around Wade's broad shoulders and lightly hopped up, gripping his waist between his knees, knowing full well Deadpool would easily catch hold of him in those powerful arms. He nuzzled his damp nose against the seam where Deadpool's mask met the skin of his cheek and huffed in the scent of Deadpool's skin. Smoke and heat and copper.

 

Peter shifted to wrap his legs around Wade's waist, and felt his weight being borne so easily in the crook of one of Deadpool's arms, his other hand gently directing Peter to face him straight-on. Peter desperately wanted to see Wade's face too. To look him in the eyes, and really see the emotion behind them that he could feel in Wade's touch. But he also didn't want to spoil this by asking for it. Didn't want to bring Deadpool's insecurity to the forefront of this moment that already felt so fragile that it could so easily shatter like those tacky signs, spilling out their neon guts until they were lifeless.

 

He satisfied himself with the hand stroking his skin, pushing damp locks of hair away from his face, and the delicate drag of teeth on a sensitive spot just below his ear. He shuddered, and rocked forward, moaning softly as he realized for the first time that he was hard and pressing against Deadpool's belly.

 

"That's what I like to hear, Babe." Wade's nipped at Peter's bottom lip and tugged on it as he dragged his hand in between them, running his broad palm down Peter's chest and stomach, resting over his belly button.

 

Peter made a sound of frustration and tried to roll his hips up, still caught in the crook of Deadpool's arm, legs wrapped snugly in place. A predatory grin exposed Wade's white teeth and split open the cut in his lip he'd been worrying all night. Peter had a sudden urge to taste the spot where the faintest line of blood opened up.

 

"Please Wade- I want you-" he emphasized the urgency of his need with another small roll of his hips, squeezing Wade tightly with his thighs. He kitten-licked at the torn skin, soothing it over with his tongue and tasting the sharp tang of copper. Peter felt Deadpool's grip on his ass tighten, fingers flexing and kneading into his skin.

 

"Oh Honey, I've dreamt about dat ass for years, but it feels even better than my fucked up fantasies could ever imagine." Wade growled as he bit Peter sharply on the throat, the pain shooting a current of desire through him in a way he'd never felt before.

 

Peter dropped his hips back and loosened his grip around Wade's waist to give him better access, when he noticed the unmistakeable hardness pressing against his ass. He wiggled a little, and the hiss of Wade's breath through his teeth was all the answer he needed. He pushed himself down, grinding his hips against the hard outline of Deadpool's cock through his leather pants. He was losing control of the rational part of his brain as the desperation clawed at him for more and more and more. He grappled at the back of Wade's head, drawing him in closer for an open-mouthed kiss. He was losing himself in the moment, and hearing/feeling Wade moaning helplessly into his mouth was making him ache and throb for release.

 

"Please, Wade. Please- I need you to touch me." He was begging and whimpering and in the back of his mind he wasn't sure he'd ever made those sounds before, but the sane part of his brain had fled, and the needy, desperate side had taken over. Luckily, it had the desired effect on Wade.

 

"Oh Holy Mother Bea and Jesus fucking Christ, I'll give you anything you want if you keep talking like that, Precious." Deadpool latched on to Peter's neck to place wet, messy kisses along his feverish skin.

 

Peter's back arched and he tried to hold in his voice behind clenched teeth as Deadpool palmed the bulge in his spandex roughly. His moan was stuttering and broken as Wade stroked him. He wasn't going to last very long. It had been awhile since he'd been with anyone this way, and the rough uncontrolled way Wade was grinding up against his ass, and the heat and heavy pressure of his broad palm was too intense for him to handle.

 

"Petey, baby, you feel so damn good," Wade said, pulling Peter's hips down as he thrust up again his clothed ass with abandon, giving up on finding the seam of Peter's suit to stroke him frantically through the spandex. "You taste amazing and you smell so god damn perfect; am I fucking dreaming?"

 

Peter didn't have any words to spare to answer him, could only manage the litany of please, and more, falling from his lips. His moans becoming short and breathy as he climbed closer and closer to his climax, the pressure building so dangerous and so sweet. He was going to finish in his tights like some inexperienced teenaged kid, but he didn't really have it in him to care. The heat in his belly intensified and suddenly, as though crashing over him in a scorching wave, his eyes slammed shut, vision turning white as his muscles all clenched at once, and he bit down viciously in the crook of Deadpool's neck as he came.

 

He heard a sharp, pained hiss, tasted the rain and salt on Deadpool's skin, and then his body went limp, muscles relaxing as he dangled loosely in the crook of Deadpool's arm. "Shit, that was so fucking hot, you've got a wicked bite, Petey." Deadpool soothed a hand up and down his back as Peter clung on to him. And finally, as if coming out of a daze, and back to himself, Peter became aware of the hard bulge still pressed against his ass. He slid himself bonelessly out of Wade's grip, to drop to his knees on the ground in front of him. After an orgasm like that, he couldn't leave Wade hanging.

 

"Oh damn. No way. Did I die of alcohol poisoning back there? I mean, I didn't think it was possible, but this can't be real. No way. This is some kind of purgatory dream before I'm dropped back into hell again, right? Petey?" He dropped a hand to Peter's head and carded his fingers through the dripping curls.

 

"Deadpool," Peter said and he flicked open the fly in Deadpool's pants. "Kindly shut up for however long this is going to take." He wiped some of the water out of his eyes, his eyelashes clumpy and damp with rain, and assessed the heavy rise and fall of Deadpool's chest. The way he could feel the flutter of his pulse and the twitching muscles where his hand was resting on Wade's thigh. "I give it, I dunno, two minutes tops? It'll be a challenge, I'm sure, but you can manage that, right?"

 

It wasn't two minutes. Peter reached into the opening of Deadpool's pants to brush his palm against Wade's cock, just a whisper of a touch against the throbbing of his member, and he felt Wade tense, his body jolting in climax. Peter felt a sudden pulsing of heat and wetness against his glove, and he shifted back on his heels, blinking up in surprise.

 

"Uh... well, not exactly what I had in mind. But if it was good for you?" He joked, shrugging his shoulders. Seeing the sudden bloom of embarrassment across Wade's neck and cheeks where his skin was visible was endearing. And kind of cute. If you could really describe a huge, muscular, sword-wielding, grenade-throwing, gun-toting mercenary that way.

 

"Webs- I swear, I'm normally good to go for a lot longer than that. Like all night, baby. I'm a totally strong and virile specimen of masculinity, it's just that- you know," He said as he worked awkwardly to tuck himself back into his pants and struggling a little to close his fly.

 

Peter smiled as he stood up, grabbing his mask from the puddle it had fallen into, and wringing it out carefully before pulling it over his hair and eyes with a shudder. His pants were sticky and he had a gross, dirty, puddle-mask slapped on his face making his skin crawl a little. But all things considered, he felt pretty amazing.

 

He reassured Wade with a quick peck to his cheek. That overwhelming haze of passion that had blanketed him was gone, and Peter maybe felt a little hesitant about being openly affectionate, but whatever. He was the cuddly, clingy-after-sex type. So what?

 

"So... I take it I'm forgiven?"

 

Deadpool pouted and affected his best put-out, hard-done-by whine. "I don't know; I'm still pretty hurt, Buttercup."

 

Peter laughed and smacked him playfully in the chest. "Well, what the heck do you want from me, Deadpool?"

 

Wade tapped his chin thoughtfully, another flash of white teeth behind a real, genuine smile. The kind of smile Peter had been hoping to find again when he set out that night in pursuit of Wade. "I can think of a couple things, Spidey."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for any noticeable discrepancies in tone/voice. I tried to edit it to make up for the gap in time from when I started this fic to finishing it. 
> 
> If you like it, let me know. If you hate it, well, you can let me know that too I guess! And maybe I'll sharpen up my skills and write another one some time.  
> You can always check me out on my tumblr: MissHunbun


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